


1919

by Rowena_Hill



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Harmony - Freeform, Inspired By Peaky Blinders, Peaky Blinders AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:42:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24327481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rowena_Hill/pseuds/Rowena_Hill
Summary: Surviving war had left them all a little desperate and very broken, even then that didn't stop them from working. The Marauders were quickly gaining a foothold in Birmingham and the only thing the lacked was someone who could stitch up their wounds and fix their books. Good thing Malfoy knew just where to look and wasn't afraid of a little blackmail. *Peaky Blinders AU* *Harmony*
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter
Comments: 12
Kudos: 44





	1919

**Author's Note:**

> Surprise! I'm not dead! All of my other stories will be getting updates, slowly but surely. I've had this little plunny bouncing around in my head for a while now, so here we are.
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing relating to either Harry Potter or Peaky Blinders. I just like to borrow the characters and force them to play in my strange little sandbox.

_ Potter, _

_ I found the most interesting thing skulking around St. Mungo’s. Funny little bird, with the brightest eyes and sharpest beak I’ve ever seen. Quite good with a needle, too, oddly enough- can’t imagine the little thing with an actual scalpel. Bloody terrifying. Anyways, thought I’d send her flying down to you. _

_ Give my regards to Aunt Meda. _

_ D.M. _

_ P.S. Have your Weasel’s table manners improved? It’s doubtful, but I live in hope. _

*

The corner of his mouth lifted in the barest of twitches before pulling itself back into place. Malfoy was an arrogant bastard on an extreme level, but he was a useful bastard. His calloused fingers carefully folded the letter and slipped it back into its envelope before tossing it on top of the ink blotter. Even the ponce’s handwriting managed to come across as arrogant. Eton educated little prick.

Leaning back in his chair, he pulled the wireframes of his glasses over the backs of his ears and scrubbed his face with his hand. The Marauders were growing and so was their influence, that sort of attention had a tendency to come with bloody knuckles and busted lips. Now Malfoy had seemingly found a solution in the hallways of a medical college. He couldn’t help but wonder just what sort of leverage the man had on this girl. He wouldn’t ask, but he’d find out. 

The sound of a hand slapping against the doorframe of his office pulled him from his thoughts and he hooked his glasses back over his ears. Ron’s red hair was brushed back from his forehead and his sleeves were rolled up over his freckle covered forearms. “Oi. Family meeting,” he said with a lift of his chin. 

Picking the letter up from the desk, Harry stood and moved past his friend, his brother, slapping him on the shoulder. The bull pen was quiet, bets had been taken and the doors had been locked. Now it was only a few of them around the worn table that ran down the center of the room. Just family.

“Buckbeak is a terrible name for a horse.” Neville Longbottom smirked at him as he leaned back against the wall. Funny how he’d managed to become the pretty one out of all of them, Harry thought with a snort; Nev had a bit of an awkward duck when they were kids.

Harry shrugged. “And yet that doesn’t seem to be a deterrent.” The soles of his boots shuffled over the rough wood of the floor, the toe pushing at a splinter.

“I didn’t know we were in the business of fixing races now,” said Ron as he dropped down in a nearby chair, his long legs stretched out in front of him. He’d known Ron the longest and had never quite forgiven him for being the taller one.

His finger tapped against the envelope in his hand, the paper felt heavy which meant it was expensive. But he remained silent as his eyes scanned the room. Ron’s elder brother, George, had taken a seat at the end of the table, his cane propped up against a small gap in the boards of the table. Everyone in the room had lost, it only became shockingly apparent when it came to George, shrapnel still lodged in his leg and half an ear missing; some days all he could hear was near constant ringing. How the man still managed to smile and mean it was beyond him.

“The business is expanding,” Harry replied as he shoved his free hand in his pocket. 

At the opposite end of the table, Andromeda Tonks stared at him, her grey eyes alight with amusement. At that moment she looked so much like Sirius it hurt and he bit the inside of his cheek. His guardian hadn’t come home from France; too many had been lost to those bloody fields and he hated that he still remembered it all. Then the woman, a distant cousin of his from somewhere on his father’s side, arched a brow at him.

“It’s gonna piss Dolohov off, that’s what it is,” Ron ran a hand through his hair and let out a breath. “Russian bastard is going to have our heads.”

Harry shook his head. “He’s not a threat, not really. Not when he’s too concerned about keeping on the good side of the Home Office, and that’s a slippery fucking slope.”

A smile curled over Andromeda’s lips.

“Not a good time to be a dreamer then?” Nev asked, his head cocked to the side as he met Harry’s gaze. “Bolshies already have pockets in the city. They keep it up and there’ll be bobbies bashing down their doors.”

“Their dreams aren’t our concern unless it interferes with business. We keep running the books and let Dolohov come to us,” he said as his fingers plucked at a bit of string in the bottom of his pocket.

Ron let out a huff of laughter. “Word on the street is you let ol’ Looney bless the horse,” he commented, shifting the focus of the conversation back to their own little enterprise. “Bit of a risk, innit?”

A ghost of a smile spread over his lips as he tapped Malfoy’s letter lightly against his thigh. “Numbers went up didn’t they?”

  
  


“Bloody right they did,” Ron said, nodding towards the blackboard on the far wall.

“And the envelope?” Andromeda asked. The woman they all referred to as their aunt continued to look amused, even approving as she watched them all plot and scheme under her roof.

Harry tossed the letter on the table where it slid to a halt across from Ron, who picked it up eagerly. “George, how would you feel about having some help at The Goblet?” he asked, turning his attention to the older man.

“Wouldn’t hurt. Especially with the colder weather. Makes my leg all gummy,” George replied with a lopsided grin.

Ron flicked the letter over his shoulders and crossed his arms. “Malfoy’s a fucking bastard.”

*

The Goblet of Fire was a stupidly ostentatious name for a pub. Or at least that’s what she thought as she stared up at the faded sign as it swayed slowly in the wind. A week ago she’d been in Glasgow, doing very well at hiding in the backs of classrooms and surgery theaters- or so she thought. Now she was in Birmingham where the world seemed to be covered in soot and canals cut through the city like veins. It was Malfoy’s fault, she decided with a delicate sniff. All of it.

Pushing back her shoulders, Hermione Granger adjusted the straw hat that was pinned on top of her brown curls and walked resolutely towards the pub she’d been sent to. On the other side of the frosted glass doors she could hear the sound of laughter and low conversation. It could have been any pub, on any street corner, and it went deathly silent as soon as the door closed behind her. Smoke swirled around the high ceiling as the patrons stared at her, their coal darkened hands wrapped around their glasses of whiskey and beer. Her eyes narrowed at the lot of them.

The heels of her shoes clicked against the sawdust-covered floor as she made her way over to the bar. It was polished to a shine, she noted with approval, the copper reflecting the electric lights that hung on the wall. It seemed The Goblet did very well for itself.

“I’m here to speak with a Mr. George Weasley,” she said, her voice carrying clearly through the silent room. The man behind the bar just stared at her, his ginger eyebrows raised nearly to his hairline; they almost blended in. Hermione lifted her chin and fixed him with a questioning gaze. “Is there a Mr. George Weasley here?”

“He’s my brother,” the man replied, his voice cracking slightly before he swallowed and set down the bottle of rum he’d been holding.

“Congratulations,” she replied dryly as she began to mentally construct a scathing letter to Malfoy. “I’m here to speak with him, so could you please direct me to him?”

“Oi, George! You’ve got a bird here for ya!” a man called out, earning a titter of laughter among the masses, as he picked up the bottle George’s brother had set down. Turning, she fixed the newcomer with a hard stare and he had the good sense to look a bit sheepish before giving her a bright smile. “He’s probably in the back. Open door down past the bar. Go on now.”

Reaching up, she pulled the pin from her hat and plucked the garment from her head. “Thank you?”

“Neville,” he replied, pausing as he jerked his head towards the taller man still behind the bar. At least the ginger didn’t look quite so dumbfounded anymore, she noted. “Ron. You know him as George’s brother.”

“Pleasure,” she said with a hum before slipping the long pin in her hair and handing Neville her hat. “If you wouldn’t mind hanging that up for me, please. Thank you.”

Hermione didn’t give him the chance to respond before she turned on her heel and began to pick her way through the room. A small smile curled over her lips as the conversation started back up again, and she couldn’t help but snicker as she heard Ron’s voice through the din: “Fucking hell. That one’s a right terror.”

*

When Harry asked if he’d wanted help in the bar, he hadn’t known just what he was expecting. It wasn’t as though Malfoy had been all that forthcoming either. So when she swept, there was no other word for it, into his office he just found himself staring up at her. 

“George Weasley?” she asked as she folded her hands carefully in front of her. 

This woman was staring him straight in the eye, he realized then, and her gaze didn’t waver. She didn’t look at the hole where his ear had been, the side of his face puffy with pink scar tissue. She didn’t even look at his leg, jutting out stiffly in front of him. There was no fear on her face, not even pity. It shook him to his core.

Nodding, he rubbed his hand over his mouth. “You’re too pretty.”

Her brow furrowed and she shifted her weight. “I beg your pardon.”

The indignation in her voice made him want to laugh. “It’s not an insult, love. You’re just too pretty for the job. Blokes out there won’t know how to keep their hands to themselves, if you get my meaning.”

“Perfectly, Mr. Weasley,” she said, her voice clipped as she set her jaw. “I was told by Mr. Malfoy that my employment here had been secured. Is that no longer the case?”

“No, the job’s yours,” he replied as he leaned back in his chair, his hand wrapping around the top of his cane. 

She let out a delicate sniff before settling herself down in a vacant chair by the door, crossing her black stocking covered legs crossed at the ankles. “The contract of employment then, I suppose you have it ready for me to read and sign?”

George laughed outright then. “Oh love, you aren’t technically working for me.”

*

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the ever so lovely starrnobella for being my beta. She's wonderful in every way.
> 
> Please drop me a review and let me know what you think. All of my other stories are in the process of being updated as well, I promise. I just ask that you be patient with me, especially since I have a two month old.
> 
> Xx
> 
> Rowena


End file.
